


wrong answers only; who am I

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, Bullying, Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Familiar Castiel, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Dean Winchester, Violence, Witch Dean, is it even a fic by me if there isn't cuddling lol, unprecedented I know, warning: they both have shitty parents and even shittier childhoods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: As one of the academy’s most beloved witches, Dean Winchester was anticipated to be paired with one of finest (and flashiest) familiars. What someone of his strength and personality deserves, because familiars were seen as the other half of their witch’s whole.However, Dean ends up bonded to one Castiel Novak. While the familiar has stunning blue eyes, he doesn’t seem to have a voice or a second form.Despite the academy’s prejudices and ill wishes, Dean remains kind, determined to treat Castiel well; he’s a good guy despite all the insults he suffers daily because of Dean, and even his sass is charming in its own way. When Dean’s cornered by the biggest bullies of the academy, his supposedly weak and timid familiar finally shows his fangs.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 288





	1. your silence speaks

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for protective dragon Cas but gosh this went and developed plot

_“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”_

_\- Dr. Seuss_

* * *

“I’m sorry, please—”

Castiel doesn’t talk. Whatever happens, he doesn’t say a word. It’s been that way for most of his life.

He can’t say he misses it. _(Haha.)_ Talking, that is.

After all, actions speak louder than words.

Castiel slips through the gathering crowd, stepping silently in front of the girl cowering on the floor by the wall.

He’d seen everything: how the girl had been walking quietly with her tray of food, how the group of bullies had swaggered around like they owned the place and bumped into the girl, how her soup had sloshed from the impact onto the leader’s shirt, how they’d backed her into a corner and not a single person around had lifted a finger to help. No one messes with Gordon and his gang. They’re known for their violence; Gordon’s right hand man (and familiar) is a massive griffin, and in a place of mostly common animal familiars, they hold imposing power. Unfortunately, nobody would risk their own hide for a weak and unclaimed familiar in a battle with no chances of victory.

Castiel isn’t nobody.

He stands calmly in front of Gordon. Defiant.

 _You’ll have to get through me,_ he doesn’t need to say. _Leave her alone._

“What, acting like some kinda hero, freak?” Gordon grabs a glass of water from the nearest table, and Castiel resigns himself to having wet clothes for a few hours. It’s a small price to pay. “Does that make you feel good, _HUH?”_

The last word is punctuated by Gordon throwing the entire glass instead of just the water, but Castiel doesn’t flinch. It shatters next to his head, jagged pieces flying everywhere.

Girls watching the scene scream, and boys flinch. Everyone collectively holds their breath as they wait for the reaction.

Castiel continues staring back at Gordon, indifferent to the blood he can feel dripping down his face.

Gordon growls and his familiar stalks forward with balled fists, but a voice interrupts.

“Cas! Hey, _asshats,_ leave him alone!”

Every head in the room turns, the crowd parting quickly to a well known bow legged figure.

_Dean._

Dean closes the distance with confident strides. “The hell’s goin’ on?” He shoulders right through the middle of Gordon’s group, ignoring the choice words thrown his way. When he sees Castiel, he whirls back around, angry eyes going gold-green. “You sonuvabitch—”

_Dean! I’m fine._

Heels click as one of the professors approaches. “Is there a problem? Mr. Walker, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean blinks, his eyes returning to their usual emerald. “No ma’am. I’m taking Cas to the nurse, he’s bleeding.”

“Let’s go,” Gordon snaps. His group surrounds him like a pack as they leave the girl behind.

Castiel helps the girl up, smiling gently when she thanks him profusely with wet eyes. Dean waits impatiently, tapping his foot, and grabs Castiel’s wrist when he can’t stand it any longer, tugging Castiel along as he waves back at the girl.

The nurse leaves easily without protest at Dean’s request. Being liked by all the teachers and staff really does have nice perks. Castiel obediently sits where he’s directed, and Dean bustles around collecting things in a metal bucket.

_I had it covered, Dean._

A muscle in Dean’s jaw flexes. He tears a large square of soft paper towel, leaning forward on his stool in front of Castiel. “Close your eyes.”

Castiel watches Dean with unreadable blue eyes for a long moment. Dean’s stubbornly fixated on the blood still trailing sluggishly down Castiel’s face, and Castiel knows he won’t be in any mood for conversation until he’s finished. It’s a bit endearing, how worried Dean is. Castiel closes his eyes.

Dean works carefully, keeping any pressure light as possible as he wipes the blood, checks for any glass shards, and disinfects the wounds. Castiel doesn’t flinch and never makes a sound, so Dean figures he’s doing a decent job. By the time he’s getting ready to put some bandages on, the cuts are already starting to clot.

He’d forgotten how quickly Castiel is capable of healing. It soothes the cold panic gripping his heart, and Dean’s almost calm as he presses the adhesive part of the bandages to Castiel’s skin.

Finished, Dean sits back, expecting Castiel to open his eyes and start protesting about Dean’s earlier interference again. He doesn’t. Instead, Castiel appears to be asleep, his head nodding to one side; Dean instinctively reaches out with a hand to catch and steady Castiel's head before the momentum has him tumbling from his seat.

Dean’s heart is racing and he hardly dares to breathe. Castiel’s cheek is in his palm, warm breath ghosting over Dean’s wrist whenever he exhales, and for one moment, everything is still.

Then, between one breath and the next, Castiel’s eyes are open, vivid blue with pupils thin as a needle.

For what seems to be the millionth time, Dean wonders if Castiel’s other form is a cat. It makes perfect sense. Castiel always seems to like lying in pools of sunlight, hoarding stuff as greedy felines often do, and is rather fickle about things. He’s shy and prickly when faced with excessive attention but thrives on occasional affection, even sometimes seeking out Dean for his presence as they do their separate things. Free time is always appreciated by Castiel and is commonly spent through naps, he alternates randomly between curling his limbs as close to his body as possible and sprawling out like he owns all the space around him, and he’s impossibly flexible. Dean swears he’s practically a cat — it’s ridiculous, the similarities — even in human form. Too bad Castiel refuses to shift.

Blue eyes blink slowly, dilated back to human levels.

_Dean._

Dean wonders if Castiel’s actual voice is as deep and rich as the one he hears in his head through their bond. That is, if he has a voice. It’s fine if he doesn’t, but Dean’s spent quite some time pondering over the possibilities and he’s pretty sure Castiel’s only choosing not to speak. He doesn’t understand why.

“Oh, uh— Sorry, I just—” Dean withdraws his hand. “Lemme torch these” — he gestures at the bloodstained paper towels — “and we can go.”

\---

_Maybe he’s a bird,_ Dean muses as he wanders behind one of the academy’s older buildings, trudging along one of the unused and overgrown paths as a shortcut. _If he isn’t a cat._

He still doesn’t understand why Castiel refuses to shift. Dean had wrestled with the idea of Castiel being embarrassed about his other form multiple times, but.. Yeah, no, he still doesn’t understand.

 _He_ is _kinda flighty…_ Dean kicks idly at a rock on the path. He doesn’t know why, but he could definitely see Castiel as one of those tiny brightly coloured songbirds— _Blue, like his eyes._

_Or… Maybe he’s a small kitty. One of those black ones with a stubby tail._

Yeah, he gets it. Sorta. It might be a bit embarrassing to be an animal of a compact size. But it isn’t something to be ashamed of! Dean hopes he’s made it clear to Castiel that he doesn’t care about what his other form might be.

 _If you really don’t care,_ a part of his mind whispers, _then you wouldn’t be thinking so hard about it right now._

_I’m just curious, okay?_

And now he’s defending himself to _himself._

Geez.

_Get a grip, Winchester._

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean turns, brows furrowed in a frown. “What—”

Gordon yells a spell from a good distance away. His voice echoes, and Dean only manages to think _oh shit_ before all the air disappears from his lungs.

Doubling over, Dean calls his magic; it manifests as gold-green flames curling affectionately along his fingers and up his forearms, but Dean’s concentration slips with his panic and they extinguish as fast as they’d appeared. Gordon laughs as he and his goons saunter closer, sneering down at Dean when he falls to his knees, dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

_Dean?_

Castiel sounds panicked. Oh, that’s right. He could probably feel Dean’s own panic. Feedback loops are a bitch.

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself, _you’ve held your breath for longer as an experiment. This is nothing._

_Dean!_

“And where’s your stupid familiar,” Gordon taunts.

_Cas ain’t stupid…_

“I mean, even if he was here — what could he do, cry?” He scoffs, and his friends join him in mocking laughter.

 _I’m fine,_ Dean tries to think in Castiel’s direction.

“Must suck, doesn’t it, having such a _weak_ familiar?”

 _Where are you,_ Castiel demands, sharp.

_Behind… The old Magical Defense building…_

“What is he, anyway? Lemme guess… A rat? Oh, I know— A pigeon?”

No matter how hard Dean struggles to drag air into his lungs, nothing happens. Everything’s spinning. Darkness creeps at the edges of his vision, a clingy ghost waiting for the perfect opportunity to drag him under.

Running footsteps echo from behind Dean, and Castiel skids to a stop between him and Gordon. _He’s barely winded from running,_ Dean distantly notes with no small amount of wonder.

“You want to know what I am,” Castiel growls, and his voice is glorious, rough as gravel and so _so_ much deeper than Dean could ever expect. “I’ll show you.”

For a reason Dean will never be able to really understand, Castiel’s real voice reminds him of thunder, bursting with immeasurable raw power and wildly untamed. He sees Castiel’s pupils thin into sharp slits — _like a reptile,_ Dean suddenly realizes — before there’s a literal wall of gleaming black scales in front of him.

The growl that rings out in the dumbfounded silence shakes Dean down to his bones, igniting a primal fear that sends adrenaline flooding through his body. _Run. You will never be able to beat this,_ every cell in his body screams, and if he weren’t already breathless, he definitely would be now.

Crouched in front of Dean is a dragon. A sleek but still giant creature, complete with huge wings, a long tail, deadly claws, horns and spines— the whole package.

_Castiel._

_Is._

_A goddamn dragon._

All this time, Dean had thought he would be something small and cute, at most maybe a big cat. Why the _hell_ would you feel the need to hide something as awesome as this?

_A dragon!_

Dean feels like he’s about to lose his mind. Not being able to breathe probably isn’t doing him any favours, though.

Curling his tail in a protective half circle around Dean, Castiel opens his mouth to reveal rows of the largest and sharpest teeth Dean has ever seen. He rests the end of his tail over Dean’s thighs — it’s a surprisingly reassuring weight — and steps forward with a snarl.

Gordon falls back onto his ass, shrieking a sound so high and frightened, his voice gives out halfway through with a rasp. All of his friends look like their souls just exited their bodies, and Dean would laugh if he wasn’t so busy taking the deepest breaths of his life.

Air never tasted so good.

Overwhelmed — quite possibly hyperventilating as well, just a little — and exhausted, Dean slumps sideways. Castiel’s tail immediately slips around his waist, the end of one enormous wing curving close to support Dean’s weight, despite Castiel still being rather preoccupied with giving Gordon heart failure.

Dean slaps weakly at Castiel’s wing. “Cas,” he wheezes, voice hoarse, “hey.”

Castiel pauses, turning his head enough to fix one blue eye on Dean. He blinks and somehow manages to look concerned, as if he was only just noticing how he’d instinctively prevented Dean from sprawling over the floor.

“Don’t…” Castiel doesn’t protest, so Dean leaves his hand where it is, a childish part of him marvelling at the smooth scales under his fingers. “Don’t eat him.”

Castiel huffs and turns back to bare his teeth at Gordon, who looks a second away from crying.

_He probably tastes terrible._

Dean swears Castiel’s only doing it because he enjoys seeing the absolute terror on Gordon’s face. What a sadist. But, Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t bring him the slightest bit of satisfaction.

“Look, I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry, okay?” Gordon turns to Dean with desperate eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want, just— Please don’t let him eat me.”

“Then, quit—” Dean coughs, wincing when it aggravates his growing headache. Man, oxygen deprivation is no joke. Castiel’s eyes — gentle and slightly more dilated with Dean in their sights — flash with anger, pupils thinning out so much they nearly disappear into the blue, and Dean quickly lays a hand on Castiel’s snout without a second thought. “Quit picking on people.”

Gordon nods frantically, mute; he gawks as Castiel rumbles a low purr and nudges forward into Dean’s palm, eyes slipping shut in unparalleled trust.

“Good. Get— Before I change my mind.”

\---

“Thanks.”

Castiel smiles. When he moves to leave, Dean snags his sleeve, looking up at him with pleading eyes until Castiel nods and perches on the edge of the bed.

Dean closes his eyes. “...Cas.”

_Yes?_

“You wanna talk about what just happened?”

_...If we must. I suppose we should._

Dean breathes out. Not quite a sigh, but also not a mere exhale. _We don’t have to if you don’t wanna._

Castiel doesn’t reply for a minute; Dean’s about to apologize for bringing up the topic when Castiel’s voice speaks up in his mind again.

_I’m sure you have questions you want answered._

“Well, yeah.” Dean hums a sigh. “But if—” Damn, some words are so much easier to say when he doesn’t have to say them. _If you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, I won’t ask._

He feels Castiel shift. Curious, Dean opens his eyes, to find Castiel watching him with surprise and a fair amount of awe in his eyes.

“What?”

_Nothing, I’m just… surprised._

Dean huffs, propping himself up on one elbow. “What, lemme guess— You didn’t expect me to say that?”

Castiel shakes his head. _Most people demand answers. And, as your familiar, I—_

“Most people here are asswipes. And you don’t owe me squat, bein’ my familiar doesn’t mean I own you.” Dean worries at his bottom lip. _I don’t wanna be one of those shitheads who treat you like garbage, okay? I ever act like that, rip me one._

“Dean.” Castiel says his name with careful reverence, smiling softly. _You’ve been more than kind._

Mouth open, Dean stares.

Jesus Christ. Now there’s a voice he wouldn’t mind hearing all the time.

_Dean...?_

“Dude, why don’t you ever talk? Your voice is awesome.” Dean blinks. “Ah— Shit, sorry, my brain went offline and I… Should definitely stop talking— I’m gonna stop talking, right now— Okay.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, and Dean wants to plead for forgiveness until the sun rises for the next day.

_...I’ve gotten used to it._

Dean feels like he shouldn’t be speaking out loud. This is a silence he shouldn’t be breaking. Tentatively, he mentally asks, _Used to what?_

_Everything._

_You don’t deserve any of the shit people do to you._ The world is cruel, allowing it. If there was any one person responsible, Dean would do anything to find them and introduce his fist a couple dozen times.

 _It isn’t anyone’s fault._ Castiel’s expression is so unbearably lonely and sad and Dean wants nothing more than to bundle him into his arms. Hold him tight, keep him safe from all the years of torment weighing on his soul. _Fear is powerful and often uncontrollable._

_Fear? Buddy, you ain’t scary._

_Can you really say that after today?_ Castiel glances up to meet Dean’s gaze.

Dean doesn’t hesitate for a second. _Yeah. Man, I never woulda guessed you’d be a_ dragon _— I mean, you’re such a dorky little guy. You gotta show me again— Ah, only if you want to, of course… And ‘sides, it ain’t like you walk around shoving your teeth 'n claws in people’s faces._

_Even so. All the people who have seen me today…_

Dean flushes, lowering his head in an attempt to hide it from sight. Castiel had insisted on carrying Dean all the way back after Dean’s knees buckled underneath him when he had tried to stand — _my legs are asleep,_ Dean had attempted as a justification, but Castiel had none of it. Arguing against a dragon seemed pointless, so Dean had given in. Riding a dragon is every bit as cool as he’d thought it would be; all the wide eyed amazement from other students of the academy is definitely a welcome bonus.

_Sorry, your secret’s out ‘cause of me…_

_No, Dean. People were bound to find out. It was only a matter of time._

Dean’s arm is falling asleep under his weight, so he lies back down. _I don’t think I’ve told you yet— Thanks._

Castiel tilts his head to one side. _For?_

_Savin’ me. Everything._

_Oh._ Castiel doesn’t really smile, but something brightens in his eyes. _You’re welcome._

Dean smiles, stretching his arms above his head. _I would say you’re my knight in shining armour, but I’ve always liked dragons more._

Castiel laughs in Dean’s mind. Dean wishes he could hear the sound with his ears, see Castiel throw his head back as he laughs.

_Wow, we’ve talked more today than our whole time bunking together._

Castiel flinches, expression guilty.

 _Hey, s’alright! I’m just happy to know more ‘bout you. Better late than never, right? And, ah, while we’re at it…_ Geez, it feels like his face is going to catch fire. _D’you think — you can definitely, 100%, say no if you don’t feel like it — you could… talk to me? No pressure, but I, uh, don’t want you to think you can’t talk around me for some reason._

Castiel blinks. _I think—_ He pauses, poking his tongue out to wet his lips, and Dean has a sudden ridiculous urge to test if they are as plush as they look against his own. “I think I would like that.”

“Whoa,” Dean gasps. “Real shame, all this time I’ve spent not hearing your voice.” His words hit his brain only after he sees a lovely pink blooming over Castiel’s cheeks. Where the hell did his brain to mouth filter go?

“My fa—” Castiel abruptly stops, pressing his teeth together hard enough for a muscle to visibly jump in his jaw.

 _My father didn’t approve of what I am._ Slowly, he opens his mouth to show Dean his too-sharp-to-be-human canines, his pupils shrinking to thin lines and back in between two blinks of his eyes. _And a person who I had thought was my best friend got everyone to shun me. They called me—_

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. His hands curl into fists on his thighs.

Dean pushes himself upright, ignoring the way his head and vision swam from the sudden movement. “I’m gonna hug you,” he declares, voice lilting faintly in a question.

“Okay,” Castiel murmurs.

“Okay,” Dean echoes, crawling closer.

Castiel falls easily into Dean’s embrace, pushing his face into Dean’s neck. Dean tries not to think about how Castiel fits perfectly in his arms.

They hug for so long it could probably be considered cuddling, but Dean doesn’t care. If Castiel isn’t prepared for it to end, then Dean will happily never let go. Besides, if he were to be truly and pathetically honest… maybe he needed the hug as well.

Dean only — reluctantly — releases Castiel when he feels Castiel’s arms loosening, sitting back with a final pat to Castiel’s shoulder. “None of that _gotta hide who I am_ crap here, alright? Dragons are awesome, you are awesome— All I ask: you be you. ‘sides, I bet your smile is just as beautiful as your voice, and I can’t let that go unwitnessed.”

Ducking his head shyly, Castiel blushes a pretty rose red.

Brain to mouth filter? Dean doesn’t need it. He’ll gladly say all his sappy, embarrassing thoughts if it’ll bring Castiel a bit of happiness.

Dean grins. “You be you, I’ll be me. Deal?”

Castiel smiles wide enough to show a flash of straight white teeth. It crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Dean already knows he needs to see it again.

“Deal.”

\---

It does take some getting used to.

For only Dean, it seems.

The academy settled quickly after a buzz of activity. Student life got a lot easier for everyone, since Gordon and his gang stopped bullying people. Nothing really changed for Castiel, since nobody used to really talk to him and it remained about the same; except now, dismissive and judging glances were all but gone, replaced by respect and curiosity. Those who had witnessed Castiel in dragon form spread the news faster than wildfire and in a single day, Castiel’s reputation flipped around. Even the teachers were astonished by the news.

Turns out, the reserved mute kid being suddenly revealed as a not-so-mute dragon familiar causes quite the splash in the pond.

It’s been nearly a month; Dean _still_ isn’t used to it. Castiel tries to speak often — he’s still going through the process of recalibrating his habit of not speaking at all — and Dean wants to greedily hoard each and every single one of Castiel’s words for himself. Every time Castiel laughs, Dean wants. He wants to hold Castiel, wants to run his fingers through that unruly dark hair, wants to be the reason Castiel smiles— Dean wants and wants and _wants._

Castiel’s shedding the fake skin he had on for years, slowly but gradually. He’s becoming himself, and Dean’s losing the ground beneath his feet.

Dean had thought Castiel was… _interesting_ before, with his grumpy morning caffeine need and his quietly sassy attitude, crystal clear blue eyes that seemed to see everything and just a tad bit nerdy demeanor. Now, with the addition of his gravelly deep voice and sunshine smiles, mildly flirty (if Dean wasn’t reading it all wrong) behaviour and slightly louder sassy attitude, you really can’t blame Dean for being interested. Castiel does have an awkward but greatly endearing sort of personality, after all.

Son of a bitch. Does he have _feelings_ for Castiel?

Hm. The idea doesn’t seem to bother Dean as much as he thought it would.

 _Probably because this isn’t new,_ the smarter part of Dean’s mind whispers, _you’ve been interested from the start._

Huh, there’s a thought. Dean continues running his toothbrush in circles over his teeth, opening his mouth to scrub at his bottom molars. He’s zoning out, barely seeing his own disheveled reflection staring back in the mirror, so he doesn’t see Castiel padding into the bathroom.

Castiel bumps his hip and shoulder against Dean’s, a silent request for him to move over, and Dean nearly chokes on his toothbrush. Of course he scoots to give Castiel access to the sink, but what the hell? Castiel never gets up this early — Dean has to bring him coffee in bed before Castiel even entertains the idea of getting up.

Yet, here they are, standing side by side in their modest bathroom, brushing their teeth.

Castiel’s eyes are still stubbornly closed and his hair is an absolute mess on his head and Dean wants to kiss him. God, how he wants.

They alternate, sharing the space like they’ve been doing it for years. Dean rinses the toothpaste foam out of his mouth, splashing water on his face so he can go through with soap while Castiel spits his toothpaste and does the same. Castiel scrubs none too gently at his face while Dean washes off the soap on his own, and then they switch, Castiel washing his face clean while Dean grabs a towel.

He hands Castiel the towel when he’s finished, watching as Castiel buries his face in the soft cotton. The tips of his bangs are wet from washing his face, dark strands clumping together.

Dean aches with his want.

Castiel hums, quiet and satisfied, lowering the towel to peer up at Dean with eyes blue as the summer skies, when there’s not a single cloud in sight and the sun burns extra hot.

Dean swallows, the click of his throat loud in their mutual silence.

Castiel doesn’t move. His eyes are patient, as if he’s waiting for Dean.

What is Castiel waiting for?

Dean’s head spins with all the possibilities. How easy it would be, for him to be totally, completely wrong. How easy it would be, for him to be right.

What is he waiting for?

He’s afraid, Dean realizes. There’s pain in wanting from afar. But the pain of not being wanted is different. And while the joy of having is more than enough for him to want, he’s far too afraid of destroying what he has cradled in his hands.

Castiel looks almost disappointed. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something pained in his eyes. Dean hates it.

The edge is in front of him, waiting there, same as always. It would be so easy to step forward. Dean feels like he’s been standing and looking into the darkness of uncertainty forever. His want has long since grown into a living thing, a second heart sitting in his chest, and it doesn’t beat for him. What would happen if he carved it out of its home?

Dammit, he’s tired of dreaming. Castiel took a risk in trusting Dean — he sincerely hopes he hasn’t let Castiel down in any way — and maybe it’s time Dean trusted Castiel.

He takes a deep breath. It’s okay. Whatever happens, he’ll trust his dragon to catch him when he falls.

Uncertainty seems a little brighter than before.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Castiel breathes.

Dean freezes, his mind full of static. He had been hoping Castiel would say yes, but now that it’s happening, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Castiel laughs and closes the distance between them, tilting his head back a bit to make up for the little height difference; Dean’s eyes instinctively fall shut along with Castiel’s.

The kiss is soft and sweet. It’s the hesitant start of something greater, a gentle greeting. No, more than that; it’s a revelation — _hello there, welcome back._

Castiel grins, bursting into helpless laughter when Dean blinks at him with dazed eyes and red flushed cheeks. Playing at irritation, Dean pulls together enough of his scattered brain cells to shove Castiel back against the wall, leaning in to nip teasingly at his bottom lip.

Sliding his hands up to cup Dean’s face, Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s once more for a quick moment. When he pulls back to rest his forehead against Dean’s, noses touching, they’re both smiling and bubbling with giddy giggles.

Dean reaches up to push Castiel’s hair back, bestowing a light kiss to his forehead. He dislikes sappy stuff like this, but seeing Castiel’s resulting smile is more than worth it.

“C’mon, Sunshine. Let’s get you some coffee before you get all grumpy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha yet another witch/familiar AU I've gotten attached to... we're getting a timestamp for this one as well~


	2. was it something I said

“Dammit. Just a— Hold on for a little longer; I’ll try to be real quick, okay, Cas?”

_ I’ll be fine, Dean. _

Dean’s heart twists. It’s already a testament to how badly Castiel is hurting, if he refuses to speak aloud. The pain stretches through their bond, muted and second hand by the time it reaches Dean, but it still glows bright as sparklers in his nerves.

It doesn’t hurt Dean beyond an itching discomfort under his skin and an instinctive recognition of his bonded suffering intense pain, insistently demanding his attention. He sincerely wishes to be gifted in healing magic; it’s a relief, being able to steal some of Castiel’s pain through their bond, make it his own. But if Dean were to turn his attention to using his magic, there’s a high possibility of his focus slipping enough to dump all the pain he’s been taking back on Castiel.

He’d honestly rather die than give Castiel all the agony back, but Dean really has no other option. All he can do is warn Castiel and try to shorten the length of time.

“Right, here we go— 3, 2,” Dean blurts in half a breath, sending his magic through the air without counting any further. Might as well rip the bandaid off as fast as possible.

Castiel stands at Dean’s side, one hand pressing a thick bandage to his shoulder, brows pinched as he watches Dean’s magic drag the two mattresses from their frames to create a nest on the floor. The empty bed frames for their doubles — admittedly, they’ve long since stopped using one of the beds in favour of sharing — are shoved to the back corner of the room, opening up the space.

Frowning in concentration, Dean piles all their extra sheets and pillows together in the nest, glad for Castiel’s mild hoarding — his dragon tendencies are starting to become rather obvious now that Dean knows. He’s definitely going to start training himself for better multitasking with his magic later, but for now, he’s mildly proud of himself for managing to hold back a small portion of the pain from reaching Castiel. If only he could do better, but even a little should be a slight relief, and that’ll have to do for now.

_ Dunno if that’s enough space… _ “Cas, now.” Dean uses his magic to toss in the last of their spare blankets, dropping their comforters on top, and turns his attention to siphoning all the pain he could drag through their bond to himself.

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut in wounded determination, eyebrows furrowed so much they’re nearly pressed together. He bows his head forward just the slightest, and Dean has to take a wobbly step back to keep himself from reaching out.

“That’s it,” Dean can’t help murmuring, “c’mon sweetheart, almost there.”

Castiel breathes a tiny sound caught between a gasp and a whine, curling in on himself as his eyes open, the blue of his irises so bright they seem to glow. For a moment, Dean swears he sees a hulking shadow overlap with Castiel’s profile — his dragon — but he blinks reflexively in surprise and it’s only Castiel again.

_ Just a little more; please, shift! _

With a soft whimper, Castiel falls to his hands and knees. Dean’s moving before his brain even registers the situation — but instead of catching Castiel’s arms like he’d instinctively intended to, Dean’s hands meet smooth midnight scales.

Success!

“Cas, you good?”

_ Much improved, yes. _

Dean sighs, relieved. Castiel carefully makes his way to the nest, wings tucked close to his body. He curves the end of his tail around Dean’s waist, tugging gently but insistently; Dean stumbles after Castiel, equal parts amused and bewildered.

He’d be lying if Dean said he wasn’t the least bit turned on by being manhandled — er,  _ dragonhandled _ — as Castiel settles on top of the mattresses. Dean overbalances with a startled gasp when the tail yanks him downward, falling onto his ass right in the little space Castiel’s curled almost protectively around, his back pressed to Castiel’s side.

With the dragon equivalent of a content sigh, Castiel rests his head on his crossed front legs in front of Dean, closing his eyes. Stunned, Dean sits silently for several minutes, jostled slightly by Castiel’s steady breathing. It’s safe and warm and he definitely wouldn’t mind sleeping right there—

No, just a goddamn minute. He’d be holding himself back, waiting patiently for when there would be no pain lighting up their bond. Well, now’s that time.

“You’re a real  _ idiot, _ y’know? I have magic; it wouldn’t have touched me! If I wasn’t so  _ worried _ about your moronic ass, I would’ve let them keep you asleep until—” Dean cuts himself off with a yelp, hands slapping down rather ineffectually on top of Castiel’s snout pushing affectionately at his chest and stomach. “Wha—”

Castiel chuckles in Dean’s mind.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack,” Dean splutters.

_ I’m sorry for scaring you, Dean. _

Dean huffs. “Hmph.” He absently drags his fingertips along the edges of large, thick scales, his anxious anger dying faster than a fire with no oxygen. “Think you scared the kid more — poor thing looked like he was gonna commit seppuku.”

_ Commit what...? _

“‘s a thing Japanese samurai do — apparently — somethin’ like an honourable death? Where they gut themselves— and that’s not my point here.”

_ Hm? _ Castiel lifts his head off Dean’s thighs, returning to his original position. The end of his tail lifts and flops back down lazily in Dean’s lap; it reminds him of a content cat, only with more scales than fur.

“You—” Dean points a stern finger. “Never do that again!”

Castiel blinks.  _...Alright. _

“Good,” Dean grumbles, leaning back. “Now go to sleep.”

_ Alright. _ Castiel sounds like he’s smiling.

**day 2**

Geez, it’s hot.

Dean blinks drowsily. He isn’t fully awake just yet, too sleepy to be properly irritated, but he can feel sweat dampening the soft hairs at his nape and the discomfort quickly forces him closer to waking.

There’s heat radiating from all around him, bringing with it the atmosphere of being surrounded by flames. Maybe this is what boiling alive feels like.

Frowning, Dean squints blearily at the darkness around him. That’s weird. His sleep schedule has never been the best, but his body has always been strangely accurate with sensing the time of day; and right now, his body is telling him it should be around noon. Dean purposefully likes to keep a sizable gap between the curtains — waking up to sunlight is actually a wonderful way to start the day — and there should be warm sunbeams spilling into the room, so why does it appear to be nighttime? No, it also couldn’t be night — where’s the moon? There’s something seriously wrong with this picture.

As if sensing Dean’s confusion and unease, the dragon surrounding him shifts restlessly. The darkness around Dean  _ moves, _ revealed as a canopy of sorts— or rather, one massive wing, relaxed in a partly open sprawl. Even the heat threatening to suffocate Dean is just this dragon curled tightly around him, tail draped over Dean’s lap like a weighted blanket and a huge shoulder pressed along Dean’s side.

_ Oh. _ Right, he’d fallen asleep yesterday.

Dean sighs silently and hunkers back down. He doesn’t want to wake Castiel, and slipping away without him knowing isn’t the right thing to do, no matter what direction Dean approaches the idea. Guess he’ll have to stay; it’s a bit uncomfortable, but he can doze for a while. After all, the point is to have Castiel focus on resting and healing, not worrying about where Dean might be.

And, of course, like some cosmic joke, that’s when Dean’s stomach decides to protest its emptiness.

_ Son of a bitch. _

To be perfectly honest, Dean’s just a little afraid of waking a sleeping dragon. But he’s starving and his stomach feels like it’s eating itself in desperation; while he hates the slight softness around his middle, Dean has long since learned to hate the feeling of being hungry — so hungry he would steal food if he had to — even more. Being at the academy means no worries about where, when, or how much food he could eat, and Dean’s endlessly grateful for the opportunity to have gotten used to being able to fill his stomach whenever he wants. Having to go hungry is never really a thing Dean has to worry about, anymore.

“...Cas?” Probably isn’t smart to startle him awake by speaking into his mind, right? Dean’s been yanked out of sleep multiple times — back when Castiel didn’t speak aloud at all — by Castiel’s voice in his head and truth be told, it isn‘t the best thing to wake up to. Having your heart racing first thing in the morning is rather exhausting, really. “Hey, Cas? Buddy? Help me out here, man… C’mon, you gotta wake up, just for a minute. I don’t mind being your cuddle buddy, but you gotta let me—”

The doorbell rings, just once, bright and cheerful.

“Whoa! Cas, hey, it’s okay.” Dean rubs the sleep from his eyes as he pushes gently at Castiel’s tail, clearing his throat. “Lemme up, I gotta get the door.”

Castiel growls, tucking his wing closer around Dean and closing his eyes again.

“Wait— Hey—” Dean runs a hand through his hair, exhaling a long sigh. “Fine. If I don't go to them, they’re coming up to us?”

Silence.

Did he seriously go back to sleep? Already?

“S’that alright?” Dean pokes at Castiel’s wing. “Cas?”

_ Ok. _

Alright, then.

Dean uses his magic to unlock the door and float instructions for the visitor. Man, mastering long distance magical air messaging never fails to make Dean glad for his laziness. He listens as the front door closes and hesitant footsteps climb the stairs, realizing far too late that he’s entirely hidden from sight by Castiel.

“Um, hello?”

“Sorry, gimme a sec! Cas, sweetheart, move your wing, I can’t  _ see anything—” _ Dean nudges the wing until it grudgingly lifts, folding away close to Castiel’s back. “Ah, holy” — Dean squints in the afternoon sunlight, blinking as his eyes take their sweet time adjusting — “shit that’s bright— Oh, hi.”

The blond standing nervously in the doorway ducks his head in a little nod. “H-Hello.”

“Hm… Alfie, was it?” Dean valiantly tries to avoid staring at the three boxes of pizza the kid is holding. He probably doesn’t do a very good job. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

“I, um, wanted to apologize, again. And, um.” He holds out the pizza.

“Ah, you were worried? Don’t be— It’s mostly this idiot’s fault, anyway. Dragons are stupidly protective of their hoard and all that, y’know how it is. Cas just needs to hibernate for a few days and he’ll be back to his devastatingly handsome self,” Dean says, idly petting Castiel’s tail. “Are those pizzas really for me?”

Alfie nods, taking a timid step into the room.

“Awesome! You’re a real lifesaver; Cas ain’t letting me go anywhere right now.” Dean gestures at his current predicament with an exasperated eye roll, smiling fondly. “So if you could do me another solid and bring ‘em here…”

“Um.” Alfie glances fearfully at Castiel. “I don’t…”

Dean tilts his head to one side, only realizing what he’s done after the fact. Look at him, picking up habits from Castiel. The thought makes Dean’s heart swell several sizes in delight. “He’s  _ asleep, _ he won’t bite! Plus, Cas knows you wouldn’t dare try anything.” His puppy dog eyes might not be as lethal as his baby brother’s or Castiel’s, but Dean tries anyway. It wouldn’t hurt, especially if it might tip the scales in his favour. “Please? I’m starving.”

“...Okay.” Alfie inches forward with wide anxious eyes, visibly and increasingly distressed the closer he gets.

Maybe he should call it off. Let the kid be.

Castiel remains asleep, breathing calm and deep. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about Alfie’s proximity, and it quickly dawns on the kid, who gains a morsel of confidence as he approaches.

The pizza boxes are delightfully warm in Dean’s hands, and at this distance, it’s hard to ignore the wonderful scent. His stomach yowls impatiently. “Seriously, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Alfie murmurs with a faint smile. One awkward tip of his head — too deep to be a nod, too brief to be a bow — later, and he goes on his way.

Hm. That’s one problem solved.

**day 3**

Dean is  _ tired _ of sleeping.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been dreaming of a week where he could relax and nap. A time where Dean would be free of obligations and responsibilities that constantly hounded his ass, giving him freedom to do whatever he wished. It sounded like heaven.

Now, faced with the reality of empty laziness, Dean finds it isn’t quite as nice as he’d imagined. Sleeping on and off for a whole day yesterday had been great, but he doesn’t think he could stand to spend another so foolishly.

Apparently, it really is possible to sleep too much and end up tired again as a result. Dean’s muscles crave activity, and he’s actually  _ bored _ of not doing anything.

Maybe he’ll do some cleaning.

**day 4**

Castiel spends more and more time awake than asleep. He dozes often instead of the deep sleep meant for recovery, and develops a new favourite pastime of watching Dean bustle around as he cleans or restlessly rearranges things in different places before moving them right back.

Dean doesn’t end up cleaning for long; everything’s already spotless from his work yesterday. Unease and panic no longer burns through their bond whenever Dean leaves Castiel’s side to use the bathroom or prepare a meal to eat — but it’s still there if Dean searches a little, so he continues sticking close to Castiel’s side. He doesn’t know why Castiel wants so much physical contact, but it seems to soothe the dragon side of him and bring some peace. Maybe he needs some reassurance — to know someone is watching over him — during his time of vulnerability.

So Dean stays, leaning his full weight back against Castiel, playfully manipulating his gold-green flames into little butterflies and birds to pass the time.

**day 5**

_...Dean. _

Dean glances up from his book with a wide smile.  _ Look who’s up and kicking. Mornin’, Sunshine. _

_ Good morning, Dean. _

_ You feeling okay? _

Castiel pauses to think. Dean waits, checking up on what he can catch from Castiel through their bond; as far as Dean knew, Castiel’s fine. Then again, second hand information isn’t always the best.

_ Yes, _ Castiel finally declares.

_ Yeah? That’s good. _ Dean stretches his arms above his head. “Mmmph.” He coughs, humming to banish the rasp of disuse from his voice. “Whew. Been a few days.”

_ I’m sorry, Dean. _

“For what? I figured you’d want some quiet to sleep. We’ll chat all we want when you’re all healed up, yeah?”

_...Yeah. _

Dean doesn’t realize he’s staring until Castiel’s wings move, the motion as pointed as a throat being cleared. He hastily lowers his eyes back to his book.

_ You can touch, if you want… _

Dean looks up so fast a muscle in his neck protests. What? He hadn’t even considered the idea of putting his hands on those magnificent wings. But, if Castiel is offering…

“Are you sure?”

_ Yes. If you wish, you may. _

As if Dean could resist.

“Then…” Dean stretches out a hand, tentatively touching his fingertips to the topmost joint of Castiel’s wing.

The wing twitches but doesn’t shy away; it spreads slightly, curving closer to Dean, as if to make up for the first mildly discouraging reaction. Dean gently traces the jagged paths slashing across Castiel’s wings. There’s a morbid sort of beauty in these scars, terrible wounds healed by time and care.

He knows they’re old — now just pale white lines scored through the black and a tale to be told — but mournful fury still takes root within Dean, spreading slowly. Who could dare do something like this? There are far too many to be purely accidental, and most are far too straight to be anything but deliberately inflicted.

Dean rests the pads of his fingers on a particularly thick scar. Even now, it looks like it had cut painfully deep — the memories behind this one must be nightmare worthy.  _ Did your… father do this? _

Castiel huffs a sigh.  _ No. _ He closes his eyes.  _ I told you my father didn’t approve of what I am. In fact, he didn’t care for me at all. I hardly have any real memories of the man. _

Dean frowns. Unnoticed by anyone, the book slips from where it had been balanced on one of his legs, sliding silently to rest against a nearby pillow.  _ Then… _

The wing under Dean’s hand jerks in an agitated half flap. Not afraid in the slightest, Dean presses his palm to the wing, and it calms with his touch.

_ My mother. _ Castiel sounds almost pained by the words. If he was in his human form, Dean would definitely yank him into a hug.  _ She was born with no wings. A flightless dragon. And seeing me — her child — have what she couldn’t, it— I suppose she was… envious.” _

Oh. Dean’s dead mom and asshole dad are both such insignificant issues compared to Castiel’s pain. How did he think he had it bad in life?

_ Dean? Are you— Are you crying? Was it something I said? _

Dean ducks his head, blinking against the tears blurring his vision. “Sorry—” He sniffles and scrubs furiously at his eyes.  _ I didn’t mean to— _

_ You’re a beautifully kind soul. _ Castiel stretches his head into Dean’s lap, bumping his snout against Dean’s chest.  _ Please don’t cry, Dean. _

“No, I’m—”  _ I keep thinkin’ I had it tough ‘cause of my old man but you— You have it so much worse and I— _

Castiel’s tail swats at Dean’s thigh, the perfect reaction of an irritated cat.  _ Dean, no. _ He noses at Dean’s arms until Dean lowers them, staring insistently into wet emerald eyes.  _ There will always be people who are worse off. _

Dean glances down, damp eyelashes fluttering, and Castiel’s head dips to catch his gaze again.

_ That will never make your pain any less valid. _

_ Stop— _

_ I’m sorry you had to go through everything you have, Dean. _ Castiel curls himself around Dean, embracing Dean the best he could with one wing and a tail.

_ Stop it— I’m supposed to be comforting you— _

Castiel rests his head on Dean’s thighs.  _ It’s alright; I’ve made peace with my past. After all, it led me to meeting you— And I’d like to apologize for my foolishness. I’ve been entertaining a terribly misguided assumption, that your status meant you’ve never had any brushes with misfortune. _

Breath hitching with a soft sob, Dean bends to wrap his arms around part of Castiel’s neck, pressing their foreheads together.

Castiel closes his eyes against the sensation of warm tears spilling over his scales.

**day 6**

Sensation slowly bleeds back into Dean’s awareness. He breathes, aware of how his lungs expand in his chest, reveling in the soul deep contentment leaving him a puddle of blissful putty.

A pair of legs are tangled between Dean’s own, a strong arm at his waist holding him close. Gentle fingers comb idly through his hair. Too drowsy to comprehend the implications of such observations, Dean nuzzles closer to the nice warmth, pressing his nose to the dip of a collarbone. The chest beneath him rumbles with a happy sound torn between a chuckle and a purr. Inexplicably delighted, Dean repeats the action, brushing his lips across the soft skin on a whim. Just as he’d desired, the noise occurs again; only this time it’s louder in volume, closer to a laugh.

Dean’s lips turn up in a languid smile against his will. His brain stirs, stretching awake like a sleepy cat, and Dean finally connects the dots.

_ Wait a— _ Dean’s eyes fly open as he tips his head up. “Cas?!”

Stupidly elegant with his quick reaction time, Castiel arches his neck back to avoid having his chin bashed by the top of Dean’s head. “Hello, Dean.”

“Wh—”  _ Are you supposed to be wingless right now? Does anything hurt? You okay? _

“I’m fine, Dean.” Castiel smiles, warm.

Dean relaxes. Just a little. “What— What happened to seven days? I thought you said that was the minimum—” A thought pops into his mind. “Okay, you’re fine? Let’s see it.”

Castiel frowns, narrowing his eyes in a confused squint.

“This.” Dean hauls himself upright, jabbing a finger to the center of Castiel’s chest. “Off. C’mon, big boy. Let’s see it.”

Blinking up at Dean with a stunned expression, Castiel opens his mouth — to protest, no doubt.

“Yeah,” Dean interrupts, “now.” He isn’t going to give Castiel a chance to back out. “If you’re really as ‘fine’ as you say you are, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me.”

A familiar glint of challenge in his eyes, Castiel sets his jaw as he sits up.

There it is; this is what Dean had been counting on. Hook, line… and sinker. Perfect.

Castiel reaches for the bottom of his soft black t shirt, lifting it up to reveal a delightfully toned stomach before he hesitates. Dean’s heart lurches, and not in a good way. Then Castiel tugs the shirt up over his head, throwing it to the floor to stare defiantly into Dean’s eyes.

If Dean wasn’t so anxious, he’d definitely be busy staring at — and drooling over — all the newly exposed skin. Instead, his eyes zero in on the bandage still taped to Castiel’s shoulder, now a dark crimson from dried blood. He gingerly peels it off, corner by corner, peering suspiciously at the intact skin like he’s expecting it to part again with a wound. Tossing away the bandage, Dean even goes so far as to poke around the area, not satisfied until he confirms a perfect recovery.

The bolt of magic had gone  _ through _ Castiel’s shoulder, dammit, he has to make 100% sure everything’s good.

When he can’t justify touching Castiel like some kind of molester anymore, Dean yanks his hand back. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, “guess you’re in the clear. That’s good.”

Castiel cups Dean’s face with a hand, elegant fingers curving tenderly along his jawline. Dean follows easily when Castiel guides his face up, and he’s rewarded with a soft kiss. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean blinks multiple times in rapid succession. “You’re welcome…?” The sheer affection in Castiel’s voice and touch leaves him dazed after nearly a whole week of no real human contact.

“You’re absolutely wonderful, helping me heal faster.” As if he’s seriously trying his damn hardest to make Dean’s heart flutter, Castiel slides his hand into Dean’s, weaving their fingers together.

“I didn’t— I didn’t do much…” Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand gently, nearly blinded by the resulting smile he receives. The tips of his ears are getting warm. “Just kinda sat around, really.”

“No, you did plenty,” Castiel insists. “You built me a nest” — Dean glances up in time to witness Castiel’s cheeks flushing a lovely pink — “and helped keep me comfortable, maintaining a clean space.” Castiel looks down at their joined hands, worrying briefly at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Your presence, I suspect, was the greatest deciding factor.”

“Oh. Cuddling helps you heal, hm?”

“I suppose,” Castiel says, slow and cautious.

“Sounds good t’me.” Dean flops onto his back, grinning up at Castiel. “C’mere, then. Gotta make  _ really _ sure you’re all good.”

It’s comfortable cuddling for mere minutes before Castiel’s stomach proudly announces its hunger. They laugh — brushing their teeth with their shoulders pressed together, toothpaste foam smearing all over their lips — as a meal fit to feed a small army is warming up in pots on the stove and pans in the oven.

After eating and leaving wet soapy handprints all over sweatpant clad butts, Dean and Castiel shed their damp clothes. They climb back into the nest, swaddling each other in heaps of blankets, and recline back against a mountain of pillows to read together.

“Hey,” Dean says as he flips a page, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Castiel leans his head against Dean’s. “Why wouldn’t I be? I have you.”

Dean bolts upright to gawk incredulously at an unfazed Castiel, jostling the book. Is it supposed to be a joke? Then he spots the mirth dancing in Castiel’s eyes. “You smooth” — he scrabbles to clutch at Castiel’s shoulder —  _ “idiot— _ Get over here, gonna kiss you—”

“Not if I kiss you first.” Castiel grabs hold of Dean’s biceps, a mischievous smirk curling his mouth. He shoves with only a hint of his strength but Dean yields strangely easily, falling back against the pillows with Castiel’s hands on either side.

Chest heaving with his heavy breaths and plush lips parted invitingly, Dean stares up at Castiel without blinking, pupils blown wide.

Castiel presses closer between Dean’s sprawled legs, settling his whole weight down to pin Dean in place; he’s rewarded with the liberty of seeing Dean’s eyes dilate impossibly further up close, jewel bright green nearly eclipsed by black. Dean can’t stop looking at Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel deliberately pokes his tongue out to drag slowly across his bottom lip, just to see Dean’s eyes hungrily track the movement.

Dean hastily scrapes together a bit of his usual swagger, tilting his chin up to bare his neck. He’s already breathless when he speaks, and Castiel can’t wait to hear how wrecked he’ll sound after he’s been kissed senseless.

“What’re you waitin’ for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait I didn't plan for this much angst


	3. listen (to you, to me)

**day 7**

_“Hello. May I help you?”_

Dean presses the spatula down, smiling slightly at the wonderful sizzle of the meat. He’s going to feed Castiel until the dork complains about his stomach being fit to burst. After all, you need calories to help your body repair itself, right? Castiel must be running low after healing such a large point of damage to his body.

Geez, he sounds like a doting housewife.

_“Oh, I should hope so…”_

Dean’s back instinctively straightens. He knows that voice. But that’s impossible, it couldn’t be here.

_“Is Dean here?”_

Dean can’t see Castiel, but he can feel Castiel’s instant surge of suspicion.

_“Who’s aski—”_

Pain sparks through their bond. Dean’s straining his ears to hear the conversation, and distantly, he catches the sound of someone — _Castiel_ — choking on a gasp.

_Cas!_

_Dean, no. They’re looking… for you._

Shoving the pan off the heat and turning off the element at the same time, Dean drops the spatula to march toward the front door.

_They already know I’m here._

Dean finds Castiel clawing weakly at the wrist of the hand around his neck, his back pressed to the wall. Outside, a suspicious man is loitering, expression bored but alert enough to set off a few alarm bells in Dean’s head.

“Let him go,” Dean snarls.

Turning on Dean, the man abruptly releases Castiel. Dean has to dig his nails into his palms to force himself to remain standing; everything in him screams for him to fall to his knees and check on Castiel, who is coughing where he’s slumped down on the floor.

“Is that how you speak to your father, boy,” John Winchester says, tone a controlled deadly calm.

Dean glares, back ramrod straight and hands clenched into tight fists. A second later, he lowers his eyes, gritting his teeth. “No, sir.”

If only he was stronger.

 _Hm,_ John scoffs, dismissive. When John strides forward with purpose, Dean’s legs instinctively carry him backward to clear the path; he’s just about stumbling with how quickly his body obeys.

It’s been years since he’s last seen his father. Apparently, some things you can never forget, no matter how hard you try.

_Sure, come on in._

The words echo in Dean’s mind, and he nearly smiles. If Castiel is able to snark like his usual self, he should be fine.

John seats himself on the sofa — what seems to be his bodyguard stands at attention behind him. He gestures lazily at the opposite armchair. “Please, sit.”

Oh, hell no. If there’s one thing he would lay down his life for…

Dean nudges Castiel, guiding him to the armchair. “Sit,” he murmurs, gentle. _Please, Cas._

The uncertainty in Castiel fades, quickly replaced by something devastatingly soft; without a word, Castiel sits. Crossing his arms across his chest, Dean stands next to Castiel — well within the boundary of Castiel’s peripheral vision — and rests his hip against the back of the armchair.

John’s expression remains mostly bored with a lingering dash of disdain. But Dean is more than well versed in observing the faintest hints of his father’s moods; he sees the subtle twitch of John’s eye, catches the slight tightening around John’s mouth.

Silence reigns for a long minute, the four occupants of the room sizing each other up.

“I’ve been… busy, and this has been allowed for far too long.” John flicks the quickest of glances in Castiel’s direction before making eye contact with Dean. “I do hope you haven’t gone and done anything as idiotic as becoming _attached_ to such… filth.”

Anger flares in Dean, quick and easy as gasoline catching fire. “My—”

“Your nothing,” John snaps. “The boy is not a single thing you think he is. He’s been lying to you, all this time.”

Dean’s aggravated frown softens to confusion. He doesn’t want to listen to a single thing John has to say, but it doesn’t sound like a mere bluff. The words carry a weight of certainty Dean can’t ignore; combined with the sudden dizzying rush of fear and shame from Castiel, and Dean really doesn’t have any reasons to doubt John.

John’s mouth curls in a cruel imitation of a smile. The damn bastard’s _enjoying_ this.

Dean wants to punch his face in.

“Novak isn’t your true surname. Is it, Castiel _Shurley?”_

The quiet gasp forces itself from between Dean’s lips. Turning his head to look at Castiel, Dean involuntarily takes a step away.

Shurley. He should’ve known. The little details he’s learned about Castiel start falling into place: a missing deadbeat father, an insane and brutal mother. How did he not realize it sooner? Rare creatures of legend — especially dragons and phoenix — are extremely rare and run in bloodlines.

“Cas…”

“Do _not_ speak his name,” John hisses. “I’m sure all of us here understand — the Winchesters cannot be associated with such dirty blood. I will personally arrange the search for your next bonded, son.”

Dean shakes his head, taking another wobbly step back. “No…”

Bonds are not meant to be broken. They can’t be. Not unless one side no longer exists.

“It’ll be a bit difficult, but not impossible.” John crosses his legs at the ankle. “You really needn’t worry about a thing.”

“No…” Dean could hardly breathe. What he’d thought he’d known, what he’d accepted for so long… Lies, all of it. “The accident,” he chokes out, “Sammy’s first familiar— You told everyone it was an accident.”

“I did do that, yes.”

Dean exhales sharply, his face falling slack with realization. “It wasn’t. It never was.”

“The Moores are a rather insignificant bloodline,” John muses, flippantly. “Still, an acceptable improvement. I never would’ve imagined both my sons getting bonded to the same wretched bloodline — Sam was already one too many, and now look at you.”

 _You_ killed _him,_ Dean opens his mouth to say, his mind reeling with the force of this unexpected truth. By his side, Castiel’s breath hitches audibly with a soft whimper.

Grief smashes into Dean like a tidal wave, blowing every single one of his own whirling emotions clear out of the water. He’s a ship lost at sea, water seeping in through every seam of his hull, simultaneously drowning him from the inside out and the outside in. Dean’s own sorrow for the innocent life — lost so easily, unrecognized for so long — only adds to the roaring ocean trapped within the bond stretching between himself and Castiel, lending height and depth to the waves.

It builds and builds and Dean knows devastation will be inevitable when it hits.

Quick as lightning splitting the sky during a storm, the ocean of grief inside switches to anger. So much anger, it’s bordering on vengeful.

Dean takes an unconscious step in John’s direction, the rage crashing against every nerve in his body forcing him forward.

_He deserves to bleed._

The bodyguard is somehow standing in front of John now, eyes sharp and posture defensive. Dean pauses. That thought couldn’t have been his own. Which means…

_Shit._

Whirling around, Dean stumbles one step to the side and manages to catch Castiel by the biceps. Castiel stops, glaring over Dean’s shoulder with wet eyes, straining towards John.

“Hey,” Dean soothes, “where’re you goin’ in such a hurry?”

Castiel snarls, but he doesn’t make any moves against Dean. He’s lovely, Dean can’t help but think. So broad and so strong, yet always kind and gentle, never willing to wield his strength against others. Perhaps fate granted him such a powerful second form to give him protection for his soft heart.

“Cas. Sweetheart, look at me.”

It takes a moment, but Castiel spares him a quick glance, eyes wild when they meet Dean’s before they dart away again.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters. He squeezes Castiel’s arms. “Cas, hey. Don’t.”

Castiel’s pupils shrink into thin lines, his anger and grief battling for dominance through their bond.

He’s going to snap, Dean realizes. Castiel has always been rather calm, his emotions never fluctuating very far in any negative direction. Dean had figured he was just a very mellow guy. No, turns out Castiel either has insane control over his emotions or he’s been bottling all of it up inside; whatever’s been maintaining the tentative balance is gone now, and everything’s about to explode in their faces.

“Cas, stop—” Dean turns his head to make eye contact with John’s bodyguard, jerking his chin toward the door. “Go! Get outta here.”

The man immediately tries to urge John up from his seat. Dean’s reluctantly impressed, then irritated when John refuses to budge.

“Leave! Now,” Dean barks. Castiel growls, shrugging out of Dean’s grasp. “Before—”

A dragon’s roar drowns out the rest of Dean’s sentence, loud enough to shake the floor they stand on. He knows Castiel wouldn’t hurt him but Dean’s body shudders against his will, adrenaline flooding him with the instinct to run as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Cas…”

Low threatening growl rumbling continuously in his chest, Castiel stalks forward. Dean retreats with his palms out, slowly giving up ground. He doesn’t want to make Castiel angrier, but he also needs to stall long enough for John to flee.

_Cas…_

Dean moves back again.

_I know you’re in there._

A few more steps.

_I know you can hear me. Come back, idiot._

Castiel silently halts, closing his eyes and lowering his head. Dean cautiously reaches out.

_“Hey, Cassie. Don’t shift where mom can see, okay? Promise me.”_

_Laughter, twinkling like bells, bright and warm._

_“Alright, kiddo, I’ll show you.”_

_Beautiful gold eyes, strong golden brown wings._

_“Okay, fine— Don’t give me those eyes. Bundle up, you know night flying gets chilly.”_

_The same voice screams in agony, slightly muffled by closed doors, the view of a blank patch of moonlit wall blurred by tears in eyes._

_“Cassie, get back. Don’t touch him!”_

_A smile, adoring but endlessly sad._

_“Bye, Castiel. Stay healthy— Okay, kiddo? Don’t make me worry ‘bout you.”_

Dean gasps, blinking through the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Castiel’s a warm weight against Dean’s chest, blunt nails digging sharp crescents into his back. He’s crying into Dean’s shoulder, little gut wrenching whimpers cutting through his broken sobs, clutching onto Dean like he’s the only thing keeping Castiel from being swept away.

So Dean surrounds Castiel as best as he could — settling his head on Castiel’s shoulder, his arms around Castiel’s waist, his legs hugging Castiel’s hips — and tries to remain calm, carefully regulating his breaths. If Castiel needs Dean to be a rock to hold onto while the storm inside threatens to tear him apart, then a rock Dean shall be.

Time passes. Dean doesn't know how long they end up staying there, only knows his butt is starting to hurt from sitting on the floor. Castiel’s significantly calmer, sniffling quietly as he unconsciously slows his breathing to match Dean’s measured inhales and exhales.

“Cas, you back with me?” Even at a whisper, Dean’s voice rasps, hoarse in the distinct way that comes from crying. He leans away from Castiel’s ear to clear his throat but it stubbornly remains, sinking his usual tone by half an octave. “Wanna take this somewhere else? ‘m sure it’ll be easier to cuddle in bed.”

Castiel sits back to stare at Dean, the delicate area around his eyes puffy from crying. His expression is unreadable when he reaches out, dragging a gentle thumb through the damp tracks streaking down Dean’s cheek.

Smiling faintly, Dean leans into the touch. Castiel raises his other hand to hold Dean’s face, surging forward to press their mouths together. He nips at Dean’s bottom lip with his sharp canines, greedily swallowing Dean’s startled yelp.

As quick as it had started, it ends, leaving Dean with kiss swollen lips and the taste of tears in his mouth. A little dazed, he pokes his tongue out to wet his bottom lip, an action he’s nearly always done more out of habit than necessity.

“That was… unexpected.”

Castiel’s already ducking his head even as Dean speaks, eyes downcast.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs, “never said I didn’t like it.” He stands — just to give himself an excuse not to meet Castiel’s eyes — and groans, arching his back in a long stretch. Dean’s cheeks are warm when he holds out his hand. “C’mon.”

Castiel places his hand in Dean’s and Dean helps pull him to his feet, tugging Castiel close with an arm over his shoulders as they make their way to the bedroom. Dean sends a flicker of magic back down the stairs to lock the front door, handing Castiel a box of tissues and pushing him towards their bed.

“Gimme a minute.” He waits until he sees Castiel nod before padding to the bathroom.

Dean runs the tap until the water is frigid enough to make his fingers go numb. Cupping his hands together, he splashes his face, carelessly shaking his head to get stray droplets out of his hair. Grabbing a clean hand towel, Dean rinses it out several times, enough to have the cotton hold onto some of the cold from the water.

Castiel’s perched on the edge of the mattress when Dean returns. He’s stiff with his uncertainty, nose flushed a soft pink, perking up like a lonely puppy as Dean approaches.

“What’re you all nervous for,” Dean laughs, herding Castiel up the bed. “Okay. Close your eyes.”

Castiel obeys easily, hands curling around a pillow in his lap. Dean brushes back the hair falling over Castiel’s forehead, fingertips ghosting over warm skin, and Castiel flinches.

“Sorry, my hands’re probably freezing.”

“Mm,” Castiel hums, leaning his cheek into Dean’s palm, “feels nice.”

Dean allows himself a smile — Castiel won’t be able to see it, anyway — and gets to work, using the damp towel to wipe away traces of dried tears.

“...Y’know, my dad’s probably gonna come back.”

He slows to go extra gentle around Castiel’s eyes, resting chilled areas of the towel against heated skin to ease the puffiness. Not a single inch of Castiel’s face is overlooked; Dean even gets his jaw and up around his hairline, frowning lightly in concentration.

“You’re my familiar, alright?” Dean tosses the towel to the floor, cradling Castiel’s face between his hands. “Novak or not, I’d rather have you.”

Castiel slowly opens his eyes. Deep blue nearly swallows the black of his pupils; the instant he focuses on Dean’s face, they dilate — like a cat seeing something they like — so quickly Dean wonders if he’d been mistaken.

Man, Dean had pulled out all the stops for such a sappy line and Castiel’s just staring at him. Did he say something wrong?

“...What?”

The corners of Castiel’s mouth curl upward. “Thank you.”

Dean frowns. “What,” he says, again, like it’s the only word he knows. Is there an echo in here? No, it’s just Dean being an idiot.

“It’s nice to feel wanted,” Castiel says, low.

Dean’s never letting him go.

“You ‘n me, we’re jus’ better together. I ain’t gonna let my old man have his way anymore.”

Blinking heavily, Castiel scrunches up his nose as he stifles a yawn. “Are you going to… tell your brother?”

“Sam?” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… He should know ‘bout this.”

Castiel nods listlessly, his head lolling.

“It can wait a few hours. A nap sounds pretty good right now — looks like you’re bouta pass out. C’mon, you needa rest, get horizontal.”

“I can do that,” Castiel mutters. He just about collapses onto his back, sprawling bonelessly where he lands.

Chuckling, Dean tucks half the comforter over Castiel, threading his fingers through dark unruly hair. Castiel exhales a soft rumbling sound not unlike a purr and turns his whole body towards Dean.

Exhaustion tugs at his limbs, but Dean holds it off. “Gotta do a parameter ‘n barrier— Just in case…” Sending his magic through the air, Dean murmurs the spells, memorized syllables rolling easily off his tongue.

Protective golden symbols appear, their glow fading with a green tint as they sink into the walls. Satisfied, Dean joins Castiel under the comforter, yawning widely. Who knew emotions could be so draining?

“Dean.”

“Mm.” Dean lifts his arm to let Castiel scoot up against his side, resting his hand just above the sharp jut of Castiel’s hip. “Sleep. I got you.”

“G’night,” Castiel slurs.

It isn’t night — it’s actually very much day — but Dean smiles, fond, and presses a kiss to Castiel’s hair before he drifts off.


End file.
